[dropcap]I[/dropcap]n the last few years it seems that drag and drag queens have resurged in our culture. Whether through the extensive coverage of Panti Bliss and discussions of homophobia, Enda Kenny getting a pint at a gay bar, or binge-watching RuPaul’s Drag Race, the art form occupies a newly popular, and political, place in contemporary Ireland. tn2 spoke to a few drag queens and artists to find out their views on where drag stands in Dublin and its evolution in Ireland.

Drag is by no means a new phenomenon, taking its origins from Shakespeare’s time, and for Ireland drag has had a palpable presence since the 1980s as various queens, such as Mr. Pussy and Panti Bliss, began to lead the way in cementing an industry of drag performers. With the establishment of Alternative Miss Ireland back in 1987, a drag competition and non-profit for HIV/AIDS organizations, a framework was set up for new queens to find a platform, giving rise to Shirley Temple Bar and Veda Beaux Reaves, “drag royalty”, according to one of our interviewees. Davina Devine, Irish drag queen and frequent host at The George (David, offstage), describes the drag scene in Dublin. “It’s like an accordion — it gets really big and there are lots of people around, then it shrinks again, and then it seems like every time there’s a new season of RuPaul more queens appear.” The RuPaul effect, as one could call it, has even led to a competition for young queens at The George, Davina’s Devine Apprentice, which has just finished its third cycle. On the Irish scene specifically, Davina adds, “I feel like Ireland has something different in regards to drag. I think it comes from Irish culture and people — Irish drag is just a bit more craic.” Having got her start in a one-off LGBT event in Ballina in 2002, Davina notes that in those days, “There was much more drag around the country then, in Galway, Limerick and Cork, whereas with the recession and a lot of gays leaving Ireland, it has a knock-on effect. But I feel like wherever there’s a little bit of a scene, there’s always a queen.”

Those scenes each come with their own style, and talking to each artist one learns that drag thrives off its diversity. Davina “[looks] toward popstars and female icons”: her character is rooted in glamour and sexualisation, often demonstrating the art of a flawless lip-synch in her act. Others, however, such as Stefan Fae (Stephen Quinn, a TCD drama graduate), work in a different style. Stefan explains, “I’m interested in gender-bending queer performance, short form spectacle, coming essentially from a theatrical tradition of the late 60s to 70s in Manhattan called the Theatre of the Ridiculous.” This tradition has its roots in theatre craft, both practices informing one another over time. Theatre director Laura Bowler notes about drag’s connection to theatre, “Men dressing as women, we are used to this in theatre, it’s our history. It’s hard not to get inspired if you are a theatre maker. When [drag queens] are good you believe them, you totally believe that woman, that character — Veda’s rendition of Spanish Train has brought grown men to tears before my very eyes. Fact.”

It’s no surprise then that the power of characterisation in performers like Veda Beaux Reves has crossed over into the theatre industry, as she last year joined the cast of Aunty Ben by Sian Ní Mhuirí, a play for children. Depicting a contemporary family with an “Aunty” — a drag queen played by Veda — Aunty Ben premiered first in the Gay Theatre Festival in 2014 and has since enjoyed warm critical reception, a UK tour, and an ongoing tour of Irish primary schools. “I loved the idea. I’m also an uncle and can relate to it so much. The idea of doing drag for children really appeals to me.” The play marked a significant moment in Irish theatre, the first LGBT theatre for children in Ireland, and its effect, still very much ongoing, has been substantial. “I had a terrible time in school, bullied badly, even by my teachers, for being camp or gay,” shares Veda. “So to find myself in a primary school all these years later performing for children and to have these kids come up after and want to try on your shoes and your wig, uninhibited, that was really powerful for me.” Events like these are new for Ireland as for the first time children are exposed to a culture in which social conservatism may finally be on its way out. As Veda says of Aunty Ben, “The overriding message of the show is that nothing really is normal, that everybody is different,” and it is drag as an art form that can be used as a device for these conversations. “One of the things that drag does is give people a license to do [drag] themselves, and savour it, even if that’s dancing around your bathroom with too much lip balm. Society can be so anti-camp and anti-woman, so it’s a positive endeavor for any man – to celebrate that side of himself.”

The politics of drag performance can of course take on a cruder and more aggressive tone.  One of the scenes in Stefan Fae’s Cabaret Mattachine (Dublin Fringe 2014), a song skewering the oppressive regime of Vladimir Putin, involved “a fur coat, Russian hat, and underwear that had Vladimir Putin’s face on the crotch”. Stefan recounts, “I took the underwear off and the big finish of the song was that I had Putin written on my ass, which is basically ‘Put’ on one cheek and ‘In’ on the other. At the end of the day, drag has got to be fun. You can be as political as you want, but if it isn’t fun, you’ve lost your audience.” In the era of Panti YouTube sensations, and the online gay rights movement in Ireland, one wonders, is drag these days inherently political? Veda considers this, saying, “I don’t think that all queens are political, but sometimes what’s political about a queen can be subtle: in the performance, in the song choices, or the concept.” That said, there is no denying the effect that queens like Panti have had on the contemporary mindset that has brightened in Irish culture.

Another undeniable effect is that of RuPaul’s Drag Race, the American TV competition. What are the dynamics of that effect? “It depends on how you look at it,” Davina says. “It’s a little saturated. You’re getting the TV producer’s idea of drag. You don’t have to go to a show at The George, because people have Netflix.” As with any art form put into media, artificiality is a risk. It’s worthwhile to note that Drag Race, while a showcase for queens, revolves around a very classic reality TV format, one that removes itself from the liveness and subversiveness inherent to drag onstage. While this proliferation can lead to a cultural flattening for drag, there are still positives to its popularity. Davina adds, “It’s been brought into the mainstream culture [and] it brings a lot of straight people out to the clubs, so it’s a 50/50 kind of thing.” Veda is of a similar mindset, noting, “The more people who watch drag, the better.” There’s certainly no comparison to that of live performance, which thrives off its audience interactions, but according to Stefan, “Any drag queen worth their salt is going to be a little bit mischevious, a little bit punk, and will resist attempts to homogenise their work.”

Whether drag’s entrance into popular culture comes with its own apprehensions or not, through tokenism or falsification, the overarching conclusion is that drag has undergone a comeback in Ireland. In Dublin, places like The George and Pantibar have been at the epicentre of the industry over decades, certainly, but with new mediations of drag, the art form is entering our laptops, TVs, stages, and schools, and the conversations it’s starting are worth celebrating. Just don’t be jealous of their boogie.

 

Illustration by Alice Wilson